


23 August

by mmmuse



Series: Six Months:  Journey to Love [7]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:56:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5199866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shift from master and servant to man and wife present challenges for Ross and Demelza Poldark during their first six months of marriage. Inspired by scenes from Poldark 2015, episode 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23 August

**Author's Note:**

> This piece follows my previous works and may reference a bit or a bob from them (from time to time) but I think this series could be a standalone. That said, if you'd like to see what has come before, click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse) for my works. If there IS a piece to read before this, read [One Night.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/321026). 
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who have left your kudos and comments -- they make me smile! This was a fun one to write as will be the rest of the chapters in this series. Good thing too: I'm starting Warleggan next week. 
> 
> My thanks to Jackie and Sherry for their amazing assistance in refining the rough drafts I keep flinging at their heads into something I can be proud of.

Thursday, 16th of August, 1787

“Cap’n Ross, sir!” Jud Paynter’s voice rang up the stairs leading up to the barn’s cavernous loft.

“What is it, Jud?” Ross shouted. He was up in the loft shovelling more hay down to the stack on the ground level. _Why_ he was doing it was another matter. Jud had been nowhere to be found when the need has arisen, a situation that seemed to be happening with more regularity. The male servant heaved his bulk up the stairs, breathing harder than the trip should have merited. From the smell of him he’d been down with the pigs. “Well?”

Jud held up a letter in his filthy hand. “This just arrived for you from Trenwith, sir,” he said, wheezing.

Ross scowled. “Thank you, Jud,” he said, taking the letter gingerly. It was from Verity. He noticed the servant edging his way back towards the stairs and stopped him with the tines of the wooden pitchfork he held. Ross grabbed the other pitchfork and tossed it onto the floor near Jud’s feet. “Now that you’re here _you_ can get to work on the task,” he said.

The look on Jud’s face could have curdled milk. Ross didn’t give a damn. He walked over to the open window and opened the letter.

_My dear Ross,_

_I am most honoured to accept your invitation to visit with you and your new wife. I am eager to get to know her and spend time with my favourite cousin. I shall arrive Thursday the 23 rd of August._

_Very truly yours,  
Verity_

He smiled broadly. He must find Demelza.

He found her back behind the barn, carrying a load of firewood. She looked quite content in the task, with her dog Garrick yipping around her heels, and yet it bothered him greatly to see her engaged in these kinds of tasks. But despite his irritation, he couldn’t help but smile when he saw her.

They’d been married just a day shy of two months, and he had to admit that he was more content than he would ever have thought he could be. They’d had no further misunderstandings since the night of his uncle’s funeral, and he’d watched her blossom in the weeks following those few dark days. They would spend their evenings in the library; he with his maps and paperwork from the mine, she with her head bent over the book he’d given her to practice her letters. She was making extraordinary progress, and had done so well with figures that she’d assumed full responsibility over the household finances. She’d come up with ways to economize on supplies from town, which had resulted in their having some extra coin to save. When he’d given her the news, he’d been hard pressed not to become infused with the pride she’d exuded in her accomplishment. Her relationship with Prudie was improving as well and he had seen the older woman taking on more of the responsibilities she _should_ have done years ago.

She had also been making progress on her promise from the night they’d worked through their misunderstanding. She was learning how to handle herself as Mistress Demelza Poldark of Nampara more and more each day, visiting the mine or the tenants in Mellon cottages and even during the few trips into town they’d made. He was proud of the small victories he’d seen her make, and hoped it would give her the confidence she sought.

 _Well_ , he thought to himself, _time for another nudge._

“What have I told you?” he said, coming down the stairs. She looked up and saw him, her face lighting up with a smile that made him pause in his descent to admire it for a moment. He set the pitchfork aside and strode over towards her. He took the wood from her arms and tossed it on the pile. “I don’t require my wife to crochet and sip tea, but I do require her to remember she’s not a beast of burden.” He turned, captured her face between his hands and kissed her. Her lips were warm and welcoming against his own, and he contented himself in the pleasure of tasting her for a moment before pulling away. He looked into her eyes. “Are you happy?” he asked, his hands holding her upper arms.

She nodded and smiled. “I am.”

“Then I hope you’ll be even more so when I tell you who’s coming to stay,” he said, giving her arms a squeeze and heading back up the stairs.

“Ross!” He heard her footsteps on the stairs and turned to see her hurrying to catch up with him, her brows furrowed with concern. His heart was in his throat as she manoeuvred the stairs: they were very narrow and her skirts were full. He reached down to offer her his hand and she took it. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until she safely reached the top.

He frowned at her. “You know what I’ve said about these stairs, Demelza,” he said firmly, hoping she’d not detect the frisson of fear that lingered in his throat. In any event, he knew what was coming. “Now, what is so urgent that you’d risk your neck on those things, my dear?”

“W-who is coming to stay?” she said, the furrow deepening. Her fingers pressed hard against his.

Time to put her out of her misery. “We received a letter from Verity,” he said, putting the pitchfork down and reaching into his pocket for the letter. He handed it to her. “Read it.”

She blinked at him, then stepped closer to the window and held it to the light. He watched as she mouthed the words, slowly but quite well for someone who only months ago had been unable to write her own name. “Thursday next?” she squeaked, turning her sea-green gaze towards him.

He nodded.

“B-but we’re not ready, Ross!” she exclaimed.

“’ _We’re_ not ready?’” he said. “What do you mean by that?”

She shook her head. “I-I mean _I’m_ not ready, Ross! I’ve never had to… entertain a great lady before, and to know it’s a member of your family!” She bit her bottom lip and he drew her closer. “I don’t know what to do, how to behave!”

He kissed her. “Then let us go down for dinner and we can discuss this over the pasties Jinny has prepared for us,” he said softly, brushing his thumb against her cheek. She looked at him, her expression more mulish than he liked. “Demelza, remember? You promised you would try.”

Her eyes still held more than a glimmer of fear. He kissed her again, this time allowing himself to linger over the task until they were both breathless. He ended their kiss, and searched her eyes once again.

She sighed, pressing her cheek against his palm. “Yes, I promised, Ross,” she said quietly.

The first battle of the skirmish was won.

Thursday, 23rd of August 1787

Demelza set her brush down and looked in the mirror in their bedchamber one last time. She saw a slender young woman with riotous red hair and pleasant enough features, for common folk, in a yellow morning dress. It was only if one looked into the dark green eyes that they could see that fear all but consumed her. Today was the day she would receive her first houseguest as mistress of Nampara: Verity Poldark, her husband’s cousin.

She’d had a week to prepare for this visit, and she’d turned the cottage upside down in the process, much to her husband’s chagrin. _Well, sure, it will be a pleasant enough visit for_ HIM, she thought to herself as she checked the hooks at the front of her dress one last time before she needed to go downstairs to meet her. Demelza muttered curses under her breath as she left her room and walked to the room where Verity would stay for her two-week visit.

Two weeks! _Judas God!_

Demelza opened the door to the room and was pleased with what she saw, despite the circumstances. The guest room had been fully aired, the mattress taken out into the yard and beaten, then dressed with their finest linens. Demelza and Jinny had spent a couple of days sewing new curtains for the room from fabric that she’d intended to use in the master bedchamber. Theirs would keep for a time. Finally, she’d gone out that very morning and selected a beautiful collection of wildflowers for the milk pitcher vase she’d brought up from the kitchen. The room looked charming and inviting. Demelza only hoped Verity would appreciate it, being who she was.

Demelza’s experience with members of the gentry had been fairly typical for an impoverished waif from Cornwall. Her opinion of them changed, marginally, when Ross took her under his wing and brought her to his home as his kitchen maid. That was three years ago, and since then, she’d had the chance to see that some of the folks from Ross’s class weren’t all that bad. Some. Demelza’s recollections of his cousin Verity were somewhat vague. The first time she’d been introduced to Verity had happened very soon after her arrival at Nampara. She _did_ remember the feeble attempt she’d made at a curtsy. It had been, in a word, disastrous. The second time the memories were clearer, as the circumstances for Verity being at Nampara had been burned into Demelza’s memory: Ross had allowed Verity to meet a gentleman with whom she had developed an attachment, at Nampara, without her father or brother’s consent. They’d found out about the assignation and came to confront the couple. Insults had flown and Verity’s brother, Francis, challenged the gentleman to a duel. Francis had been badly injured and Demelza had helped Ross save his life. The day had been so chaotic and fraught with panic, though, that she could barely remember what Verity looked like.

 _Well, you will know soon enough_ , Demelza thought to herself. She closed the door of the guest room and headed towards the stairs.

She’d barely walked into the parlour when she heard Ross’s voice exclaim a greeting out in the yard. She jerked her head up just in time to see the silhouette of a small woman wearing a stripped riding habit and a smart little cap atop well-dressed curling hair in the doorway. _Breathe, Demelza, breathe._

“Come on through,” Ross said, his rich baritone voice soft and pleasant.

The woman approached Demelza. She could see Verity’s features now, soft brown eyes, high cheekbones flushed from her ride and a small mouth that smiled pleasantly. “It’s so kind of you to invite me, my dear,” Verity said in a smooth, low voice.

Demelza focused all of her attention in performing a decent curtsey and was pleasantly surprised with the results. “Would you care for some refreshment?” Demelza asked, her voice deceptively calm. _Another victory!_ she thought to herself. The nerves jumping in her stomach, however, would not allow her to enjoy the accomplishment, for more tests were coming, each one sharp and quick on the heels of the last.

“Oh, no, please, let me take care of myself,” Verity said, glancing around from Demelza to her cousin, who had come through behind her carrying a chest of Verity’s belongings. “The last thing I want is to give you any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Ross reassured her with a smile. “We’ve been looking forward to your visit, haven’t we, Demelza?” He showed his cousin through to the parlour, but not before giving Demelza a look of amused challenge, outside his cousin’s line of sight, of course.

Demelza could have merrily slain him. “Yes, Ross,” she muttered, trying hard to conceal her sarcastic tone and turned to trail after them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Verity was very happy to see her cousin Ross and formally offer him and his new wife her best wishes for their marriage. She would have been by sooner, but the lingering illness and subsequent passing of her father had kept her tied to Trenwith for several months. As soon as they’d passed their initial mourning period, Verity had informed Francis of her intention to visit Ross for a fortnight. He’d been annoyed, of course, for when wasn’t he annoyed these days? He hadn’t _forbidden_ the visit, which – given his feelings about Ross’s choice for a wife – she’d been half-expecting him to do. Now that she was here, she was glad to have shaken the stifling air of Trenwith for the Cornish countryside and the snug little cottage on the bluff.

She was further pleased to see that her cousin, over the three years since his return from America, had not only resurrected one of his derelict mines, his home and lands, but he appeared to be thriving. He looked fit and healthy, and there was lightness around his eyes she hadn’t seen in many years. The house and lands looked tidy and well-managed, and she was happy to see vases and pots of flowers everywhere. She seemed to remember Demelza had an affinity towards flowers when she visited all those years ago – she slammed the door shut on the memories – well, she was glad to see her new cousin was able to put her stamp on the house.

They sat at the parlour table enjoying a marvellous luncheon of roasted chicken and fresh bread, when Ross asked how things were going at Trenwith.

“It’s a quiet house since Father died,” Verity said, smiling at her cousin, her eyes darting around the room. Whenever they landed on Demelza she noticed her new cousin’s eyes were trained on the half-eaten dried apple pie in her dish. “Though Elizabeth plays the harp, and speaks French to Geoffrey Charles, and I have my needlework, Aunt Agatha her spinning.”

“And Francis?” Ross said, chewing on his pie with relish.

She paused. _How to put this_? she thought. “Is… often away,” she finally said. The air in the room seemed to expand for several beats. She turned her attention to Demelza. “This pie is delicious, my dear,” Verity said, and it was true, everything _had_ been delicious. “Did you bake it yourself?”

“Custard!” Demelza blurted out, not looking at anyone in particular. She leapt to her feet. “I’ll go and see if it’s set.” She was gone in an instant.

Verity swallowed and looked at Ross. His eyes followed his wife as she fled the room, for in truth that’s what she had done. He had a sympathetic smile on his face. He shifted his gaze onto Verity. “She thinks you a great lady,” he said, setting his spoon down and picking up his napkin, “who will show me what a mistake I’ve made in marrying her.”

Verity was at a loss. “Oh, what could I do?”

He rose from the table. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

He picked up his wine glass and drained it in one gulp before striding around the table. Verity paled. He wasn’t _leaving_ , was he? “Ross, no! Where are you going? You cannot just…” His boot heels faded into nothing as she looked frantically about the room. “Ross!”

An hour later, Verity found herself sitting in front of the parlour fireplace, her new cousin seated across from her. They had been sitting in uncomfortable, not-very-companionable silence, their needlework in their laps. Verity was still trying to follow Ross’s advice and think of something to do to ease Demelza from her shell. The tension in the room had grown over the course of the hour, their eyes occasionally meeting, then flickering away, embarrassed. _What to do… what to say?_

Suddenly, a bell rang, Verity looked up to see Demelza holding the bell rather gingerly in her hand, as if it had been the first time she’d ever used it. Jinny, the kitchen maid, rushed into the room and stood at Demelza’s chair, executing a perfect curtsy. “Some tea?” Demelza asked shyly.

“Oh, thank you, but no,” Verity smiled. “It’s a little early.”

Demelza glanced over at the grandfather clock across the room. “Oh. Yes, so it is,” she said, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Thank you, Jinny.” The little kitchen maid hurried from the room.

The silence returned to the parlour and Verity watched as Demelza buried her nose back into her mending. She took a deep breath and began. “You know, Ross is very dear to me,” Verity said, her hands stilling over her embroidery. Demelza quickly looked up at her, then returned to look at her hands. “What woman should ever deserve him, I couldn’t imagine. So when I heard he’d married you, I was—”

“—Horrified,” Demelza interrupted and looked Verity directly in the eye for the first time since her arrival. Verity was struck by the clarity of emotion that swam in her new cousin’s eyes. Fear, uncertainty and something Verity was not surprised to see in the least: determination. It made what she was about to say that much easier.

“Relieved,” Verity said, with conviction, for now that she’d met Demelza, she could truly say she had been and continued to be just that. She conjured the vivid memory of her cousin when he first returned from America, only to discover that everything he’d ever loved had been either taken from him or nearly destroyed. How she had despaired for his well-being in the months that followed, worried that he would do something to scandalize them all, be it too much drink or what she truly feared most: that he would give in to his desires and pursue Elizabeth, despite her vows to his cousin Francis.

She looked at Demelza. “Before he met you he was…” She searched for the word and latched upon it. “Broken. Lost. So I was relieved to think he’d found someone to console him, to save him from his loneliness.” She paused, holding Demelza’s gaze in her own. “But now I see it’s more than consolation. You’ve given him hope. A life without hope is bleak. And a life without love—”

“—Oh, it ‘tis not that,” Demelza said, shaking her head.

Verity’s heart rose up to her throat. Was she wrong about her? “You…do not—”

“—Love him?” Demelza said, finishing Verity’s sentence. She sighed, and the smile that blossomed across Demelza’s face made Verity ease back in her seat with relief. “Beyond _anythin’_. But,” she went on, hesitant and shy, glancing down at her hands, “I could never hope that – that he… well that, that he would ever…” She looked back up into Verity’s eyes, and Verity saw trust blossoming between them. “He’s kind to me. And… when we’re abed…” Demelza continued. Verity’s eyes widened and flew up to Demelza’s face. “I have reason to think I _do_ please him,” Demelza said with unencumbered candour.

Verity hastily looked down at her embroidery, her cheeks flaming. “Oh, I’m sure you do,” she said, embarrassed.

“But I’d never call it love,” Demelza said, with finality. Verity looked up into her new cousin’s eyes again. “He’s never used that word to me,” Demelza admitted, “and I misdoubt he ever shall.”

Verity saw longing and wistfulness in the young woman’s smile and was greatly moved by what she had said. Verity wondered how long it would be before her favourite cousin realized the gem he’d been lucky enough to marry. She smiled a little sadly, the memories of her time with Andrew creeping out to touch her once again. “It’s life’s greatest treasure, to love,” Verity said, a tremor in her voice as memories of a love she’d known crept out to touch her, “and be loved in return.” She paused, blinking away tears and gathering her composure. “My dear, do you think I care a jot where you come from or who your father is, or how well you curtsy?”

Demelza’s gaze was thoughtful and concerned. She eventually smiled. “I often wished I could curtsy. Will you teach me, Verity?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Demelza donned her night rail – which was nothing more than one of Ross’s old shirts – and sat on the edge of the bed, arching a brow at her husband, who was in the process of removing his boots and stockings. She’d been so afraid to meet Verity when they’d first discussed her visit. And yet, by the end of the afternoon, the two women had been laughing and giggling like schoolgirls. She remembered the expression on Ross’s face when he’d come in to find them attempting to wrestle the spinet out of the library and into the parlour. He’d slid a bemused gaze through his lashes in her direction, and while she’d felt a tingle run down her spine and to her toes, she could also almost hear his voice saying, “I told you so,” in her ear. The crafty man.

She thought of the conversation she’d shared with Verity, how it felt to finally have someone with whom she could confide. She had an ally on her side, along with Ross, when – not if, but when – the time would come to meet the rest of his family. It made her realize, with sharper clarity, what Ross had meant when he’d told her that he wished he’d asked her to come with him to Trenwith for his uncle’s funeral.

Their relationship had taken a turn the night of the funeral. They’d endured their first misunderstanding and had come away seeing one another in a different light. Demelza had a greater appreciation for Ross’s vulnerabilities, the pressures and concerns that were a part of his life, in a way she hadn’t before. And there was a gentleness that entered into the way they were with one another. It was not that Ross hadn’t been kind and gentle with her (her mind drifted with great fondness to a few times when they’d been anything _but_ gentle with each other), but a shift in the way he would look at her when she least expected it.

She glanced at her husband as he untied the laces on his calves to remove his breeches. He’d been preoccupied during supper tonight at first, explaining to them that they’d had to resort to using gunpowder for the first time at the mine. This was not a particularly shocking revelation, seeing as how the blast’s concussion had been strong enough to reach Nampara, but all three of the Poldarks at the table knew the use of powder was expensive and dangerous. How much more would be required was still unknown, and capital was running low. Ross had excused himself soon after they’d finished their sweet – a sweet custard and jam – to spend time in the library while Demelza and Verity stayed in the parlour, where Verity taught her new cousin the challenges of whist.

She’d also had time to think about what Verity had said about love earlier, more importantly, how her new cousin had reacted to it.

To hear Verity speak of love so eloquently, barely capable of restraining her tears, had moved Demelza greatly. She knew she needed to get more information about Blamey, and figured the best person to ask was Ross.

 _No time like the present,_ she thought to herself.

~*~*~*~*~*~~*~

“That man that used to meet Verity here,” Demelza’s voice sounded from behind him on the bed.

Ross paused for a moment. “Captain Blamey,” he said, confused over where this string of conversation was coming from.

“Has anything been heard from him?” she asked.

“Thankfully not,” Ross said, pulling first one leg then the other out of his breeches. He folded them neatly and laid them over the back of the armchair.

He heard her sigh. “Oh, Ross,” she said in the way he usually liked to hear her when they were about to make love and it made the corner of his mouth curve up in a smile. “Shame on you!”

The smile was gone. There was a hint of a scold to it. More than a hint. He found he did not like that in the least. “What do you mean?” _Where was she going with this?_ he wondered.

“How could you let them part like that?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. She’d left her side of the bed and walked around to the front of it, leaning back against the footboard. “What the devil could I do?” he said, bewildered at this line of questioning and wrestling with a stubborn button on his shirt. And it _was_ a questioning, when all he wanted to do was to get out of his clothes and go to bed with his warm, willing, _unquestioning_ wife. She was wearing one of his old shirts that she’d claimed from a trunk as her night rail. The thing was near translucent in candlelight, barely covered her mound and emphasized her long, slender legs. It gave him all kinds of distracting thoughts whenever he saw her in it.

“You should have stood up to your uncle for her,” she said fiercely. “Even now in her heart she hankers for him—”

“—Then she must stop,” he interrupted, detecting the sign of starry-eyed romance in her voice. One day, if he had to, he would explain the rationale behind the end of Verity’s romance with Blamey, but not tonight. He released the last button on his shirt and reached to drag it up and over his head.

“Why should she?” she asked as he tossed the shirt onto the armchair to join his breeches. He turned to face her, naked, the warmth of the August night pleasant against his skin. “Must hope be buried and love denied?”

Definite romance in her voice. “What do you know of love?” he asked, starting towards her, bemused by her thoughts and very interested in learning more about her thinking on the subject.

She cocked her head. “A little,” she said, a bit coyly. .

 _Two can play at that game, my dear._ He closed the gap between them until she was within arm’s reach. “Is that all?” he quipped, barely inches from her mouth. He gave her a nudge and she fell back against the bedding. He smiled and crawled onto the mattress. Demelza continued up the mattress towards the pillows, smiling in return, the siren’s smile that always drew him, inevitably, into her arms. She parted her legs without hesitation and he followed her, nestling in between them, bracing his torso above hers by the strength of his arms. “Then you must practice more,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.

He loved watching her response to his kiss. Her sea-green eyes always stayed open for their first, a soft tease of a kiss, lips brushing against lips. Their second, more intentional, more insistent brought her lids drifting halfway down. By the third, both of them closed their eyes, relishing one another’s mouths. Ross lay atop her, his body pressing her into the mattress, their legs tangled together as they enjoyed the pleasure of one another’s mouths. Tongues tangling, teeth nibbling and the gentle hum of desire that rose from their chests. The scorching wetness of her inner folds enveloped him as he gently thrust against her, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to savour this time with her, to extend their joining for as long as possible. He broke their kiss, his mouth traveling down the long column of her neck, his hands stroking her sides, and relished the feel of her hands running along his back and shoulders. He pulled the collar of her night rail down to expose her breast, sliding down to taste and suckle her nipple, listening to her soft moans and sighs. Her fingers ran through his hair, her nails stimulating his scalp, making his heart race and the hairs along the back of his neck and arms stand on end. He shifted his weight to lie beside her, legs tangled with one another. His hand ran up under the hem of the night rail to trace along her long, narrow torso before gliding down to the curve of her lower back, cupping her buttocks and pulling her against him. She shuddered, sighing his name against his lips, making his head spin. He broke their kiss once again, stroking her cheek with his thumb before rising onto his knees, and pulling her up until she was seated. She looked dazed and very aroused, and smiled into his eyes.

He reached down to draw the night rail up and over her head, leaving her naked before him. Her hair was a wild tangle around her shoulders, her eyes smouldering into his. He reached out his hand to cup her breast, the nipple hard and erect under his thumb. He pulled her forward, so that she was on her knees in the middle of the bed along with him. He kissed her again, his arms swept around her waist, drawing her in tight against him. She moaned against his mouth, the vibrations making his breath quicken with anticipation. He raised his mouth from hers to move down along the length of her neck, the sight of which still stirred his blood as much as it did that first night in May. She arched her neck, giving him free access to lavish it with attention. Her fingers slid back into his hair, fingers tugging on the black, curling strands and making him groan with need.

He leaned back to look into her eyes, then sat back on his heels, pulling her astride his lap. She looked surprised and a little confused by this but her eyes darkened when the tip of his penis touched her inner lips.

“R-Ross,” she breathed. “Like before? In the kitchen?”

He nodded, stroking her breast. “Yes, but I want to touch you, hold you close to me,” he said, his voice rough and strained.

She rose up on her knees as he brought her forward, and slowly lowered herself down upon him. Ross gasped, baring his teeth at the heat of her. Her nails scored his shoulders as she descended onto his erection, her slick, tight walls caressing him until she was fully seated on him. His hands came down to grip her buttocks and helped to set their rhythm, although they didn’t require much in the way of assistance. They ebbed and flowed against each other, the bobbing of her breasts right at mouth level distracting him momentarily until he’d latched onto one dusky pink nipple with his lips. His hands left her hips, sliding up her slender back to hold her, gently, fingers stroking the ridge of her spine and shoulder blades before returning to caress the fullness of her buttocks. She controlled the pace of their mating, her hips moving up and down to stroke him with increasing speed.

His mouth left her breast and moved back up the side of her neck. She drew him closer, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her lips and tongue kissing and teasing his ear, her teeth nipping on his earlobe. “So deep inside you,” he crooned hoarsely against her ear, his arms bringing her tight against him. He was breathless, the motion of her hips against his reset the beating of his heart to match her own. She made husky, gasping sounds that made his toes curl as she became more frantic for her release. He lifted his head away from her throat to look at her face. Her eyes were fixed on the point where they were joined and it made him burn hotter. Her hips whipped against his and the sounds coming from her changed, lower and more guttural, stuttering deep in her throat as she neared her release. He reached between their bodies, his thumb slipping through the damp hair of her mound to the small, rigid bud of flesh that awaited his touch.

He kissed her deeply, their tongues battling for a moment before he pulled away, pressed his forehead against hers, eyes fixed on one another. “Let me see you fly, Demelza,” he groaned as his thumb swept over her bud once…twice… She came apart in his arms at the third touch, the walls of her sex squeezing his erection and showering him with her body’s dew as she came, leaving him gasping for air as she quaked within his arms.

The tiny muscles of her sex quivered around him as she returned to him; his breathing ragged, his heart hammering in his chest. His hands gripped her buttocks in an attempt to give him more leverage. She leaned back, her eyes soft, heavy lidded and filled with longing. She must have seen the desperation in his own, because she rose slightly, shifting to take some of her weight off his lap and began to circle her hips around him. “Let me,” she breathed, “let me have you, Ross.”

The world around him narrowed to contain only her. The muscles of his arms shook as he slid her, up and down, on his erection, his head thrown back. His breath came out in hissing gasps from between his clenched teeth, accented with the force of her movements against him. The shimmering sensations of inevitability radiated across his lower back and inner thighs. He brought his head forward, capturing her gaze with his. “Sweet Demelza,” he panted.

“Dear—dearest Ross,” she gasped, eyes locked with his as she released a shuddering moan, her body climaxing around his for a second time. He watched the beauty of her agony before he groaned, crying out her name and surrendering to his own, searing and all encompassing.

They tumbled onto the bed, wrapped around one another, and held each other as they trembled and quaked. After a time, Ross shivered, the cool night air chilling his sweat-dampened skin. He slipped from her body to gather her against him, touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers to rouse her from her torpor. Her eyes flickered open, and his voice caught at the unguarded, naked adoration he found in them. “D-Demelza,” he murmured, pressing his lips against hers. “Come get under the bedclothes with me, my dear.”

She nodded, her body lax and pliant as they shifted enough to bring the linens and blankets up and over their bodies. She nestled against him, her voice soft against his throat. “Dearest Ross,” she sighed.

 _Dearest Ross._ Her words swirled around him as he too, drifted off to sleep. Dear Demelza.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @mmmusings on Twitter and @mmmuses on Tumblr!


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